The Next Thing
by outtabreath
Summary: JD. Some nonagsty, post 2162 Votes fun.


**Author's Note:** As always, thanks to witchofnovember – a gentlewoman, a scholar and an amazing author.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, Wellsatan owns them, but he doesn't have a clue what to do with them.

**Warning:** This one is a little racy and not at all angsty. Go figure.

**The Next Thing by outtabreath**

Santos-McGarry. Santos-McGarry. Santos for President. McGarry for Vice President.

I helped do that.

Miraculous.

I know those smiling people standing amidst the balloons and the music and the screaming delegates.

I convinced them to do this. I cannot fucking believe any of this.

"Josh. Josh!" Donna's hitting my hand with something smooth and cool.

I turn from the TV and look at her.

Oh yeah. I'm still in the Russell war room with Donnatella and William and some unnamed staffer.

I'm sure he has a name but I don't know it and I never will. As of today, he's unemployed.

I did that.

I'm _so_ da man.

"Joshua!" Donna's voice just went up. I better pay attention because that's her "I'm not joking, Josh" voice. The next thing she'll do is hit me on the back of the head and, as much as I'd like Donna to touch me _anywhere, _I don't want that touch accompanied by pain.

Unless…

I snap my eyes to her and face and, fighting back exhaustion, focus. It takes a hell of a lot of energy.

Once she's sure I'm paying attention, she stands up and stretches.

I love when she stretches.

"I'm tired," she yawns. "I think I'll go back to my room."

I peer up at her face. She's glowing and gorgeous. I don't tell her that, though; instead, I say, "You've earned some sleep, Donna."

She smiles and, damn, I've missed that smile. She leans down closer to me and hands me her empty beer bottle, which I promptly drop to the floor. "I'm in room 318," she says quietly. She straightens and heads for the door.

I watch her walk away and take a long swallow of my beer. I really love watching her walk.

I've missed watching her walk to me and away from me. I've missed her walking beside me. I've missed her note cards and her not bringing me coffee and her tying my tie. I've missed everything about her. Without her, things are no fun. They're dull and cold and prickly.

Damn. Now I'm all maudlin. I finish my beer, drop the bottle on the floor next to Donna's and focus on the talking heads debating the ticket.

"You do know that you're an idiot, right, Josh?"

Now Will is talking.

"What?" I ask, not bothering to look at him. I haven't missed Will's pointy face or glasses at all.

"You don't deserve my help but, seeing as I'm currently unemployed and am in need of a job, I'll do this for you."

I'm still not looking at him. Matt Lauer is on now. Pretty boy. What the hell does he know?

"Donna was propositioning you."

That got my attention. I swing my head to stare at Will. He shakes his head slowly at me and looks like he's pitying me. Hey! I'm not the dumkis here. I just made an improbable candidate the Democratic nominee for President.

He opens his eyes very wide and I start to think about what Donna said amidst all the stretching and smiling and walking.

Regardless of what people think, I always listened to every word Donna said to me. Every single syllable is filed away in my brain. It's just that the word file part of my brain is accessed after the part that filed away how she looked when she was saying everything.

Man. I. Am. A. Man.

It's what we do.

I slowly go through the conversation while Will watches me.

I get to the part he's referencing.

Holy shit!

I sit up straighter.

Donna propositioned me.

_I'm_ a dumkis.

"Gotta go," I mutter, lurching to my feet. Suddenly I'm not in the least bit tired.

Will shakes his head. He's not smiling. I don't care.

I pause in the doorway and turn back to him. "You're hired," I pronounce. "Not sure what you'll be doing, but you're hired."

I hear him mutter "thanks" as I head out the door.

The hallways are bright and long and I practically run to Donna's room. I slow down as I reach her door. I take deep breaths and try to calm down. I need to look cool and collected, not like I've been waiting for this moment since we met.

I knock on the door. My hand isn't shaking, much. I'm doing very well.

Donna swings open the door.

She's dressed.

She's not smiling.

Oh man.

Stupid Will.

"Took you long enough, Josh," she starts. She's still not smiling and she's still not wearing lingerie. This isn't quite what I was hoping for.

"I know," I sigh. "It took me nine years."

Her eyebrows disappear up into her bangs. Shit. I think she was talking about tonight. Still, she's stepping back and letting me into her room. I stumble in and collapse into a chair. Thank God there's a chair. I couldn't handle sitting on her bed right now.

She stays standing and stares at me. "We'll be working together again," she finally says. She's very matter-of-fact, which she should be, because, _of course_ we'll be working together again. I just hired _Will_ for God's sake. There was never a question that I'd want Donna to be with me.

Work with me.

Be with me.

She's still talking and I focus on what she's saying because this is important. I learn lessons, I do. I didn't pay attention before and I lost her. I don't ever want to lose her again.

"…and I won't be fetching and carrying for you." She's telling me what she expects of the job. "I will not report to you. Got that? That's key."

"I'm the campaign manager, of course you'll be reporting to me," I correct her.

She raises her eyebrows. "But you won't be my boss. The Congressman is my boss. Understand?

"I really did suck, didn't I?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Sometimes you really did, yeah. But that's not what this is about."

"Then what's it about?" I shoot back, getting to my feet because I feel like we're going to be fighting in a minute and I need to be vertical.

"Josh, I will not be your assistant again because the reason I left in the first place was that I had to prove to myself, to the world and, yes, to _you_, that I was more than just your assistant."

Well, that was unexpected. And wrong. I catch her eyes, "you never had to prove that to me."

She looks at me and I swear she's reading my mind – trying to discern if I'm being honest with her. Obviously she finds what she's looking for, because the next thing I know, she's hugging me.

I pull her closer and hug her tighter – breathing her in. I want to kiss her – to run my fingers deep into her hair – to learn her skin with my fingers and my mouth.

But I can't. I'm still not sure what she is feeling and thinking. I begin to press my lips into her hair. I'm soft and gentle and still pretty much above reproach. She allows about ten seconds of this before she stiffens in my arms and pulls back.

"Josh?"

Uh oh. "Yes?" I keep my tone calm and even – deniability is my motto.

"How long have we known each other?"

Uh freaking oh. This is it, Lyman. This is where I answer "nine years" and she says "and _when_ during that nine years have I ever given you the idea that I want you to touch me in a non-platonic way, you dirty old man?"

"Josh!" she says – breaking me out of my trance.

"Nine years," I respond immediately.

"Nine years," she says slowly – drawing out the words.

Oh God. I tense up and get ready to have my heart ripped, still beating, from my chest.

"Nine years, Josh. You'd think that after all that time there'd be places other than my hair that you'd like to kiss me."

Oh Donna, do you want that list in alphabetical or preferential order?

"Kinda," I say. Yeah. The SATs were a long time ago.

She raises her eyebrows and wets her lips and it's like a starter's pistol. I yank her back to me, levering my arms under hers and yanking her up against me, moving one of my legs between hers – pressing up into her. I crush my mouth against hers and she groans against me, jamming both her hands in my hair and twisting around the curls.

I'm running my tongue and lips along her mouth – nibbling the corners, licking the part – enjoying myself immensely.

Donna dials it up, opening her mouth and touching the tip of her tongue to mine.

I swear to God I just got hit by a bolt of lightening.

Electricity.

So, I start to ravage her mouth, suck on her tongue, run mine along the sleek flesh and hard bone.

She tastes like cherries.

Finally, I pull back before one or both of us passes out.

I'd probably be the first to go.

I nuzzle her hair and try to get myself back in control because, my hand to God, I want to take her standing up against the wall.

But…

I'm still not sure if that's what she wants and – if she wants it at all – if she wants it in about thirty seconds, which is when it would've happened if I hadn't stopped kissing her.

I may be da man when it comes to all things political but, let's face it, I'm da idiot when it comes to women – especially _this_ woman.

Her hands are still in my hair and she's breathing rapidly and, honestly, it doesn't seem like she's contemplating fleeing anytime soon. Still…I put my face in her hair and start tracing circles on her back and wait for her to say something.

"Josh," she sighs.

"Donna?" I say into her hair. Damn, she even _smells_ amazing.

"Would you just take me already?" she asks rather peevishly.

"Take you where?"

"Josh," she says, dropping her voice and I realize what she's saying and why yes, yes, I think I will take you Donna.

"Are you sure?" That was my voice. The HELL. Where'd _that_ come from?

"Don't make me beg Joshua."

You could a little – if you really, really wanted to. No. No. Bad, Josh. Bad.

I run my fingertips along her jaw line and stare down into her eyes. "No begging necessary, Donatella." Then we're kissing again. It's not as passionate and fevered and out-of-control as before.

It's indescribable.

Once again, and in my defense, the SATs were over twenty years ago and there was more blood in my brain and no Donna Moss in my arms and in my life to distract me.

My feet are moving backwards and it takes me a full five seconds to realize that Donna's propelling me towards the bed. I wrench my lips from hers and swivel my head around just as the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress and I fold up like a map.

I'm lying flat on my back, sprawled inelegantly half-on and half-off the bed as a very elegant and beautiful Donna peers down at me. She wants to laugh. I can tell. This really doesn't bode well for my sweeping her off her feet and making her mine forever.

"You gonna stay there?" she asks, her lips quirking up at the edges.

"Thought it would be a good idea."

"Mmmmhmmm" she hums, then begins to unbutton her blouse and I sit bolt upright and grab her hips, pulling her into the vee of my legs. Our fingers tangle and chase one another as, together, we open her blouse. I reach up and push it off her shoulders and enjoy the amazing vision of Donna's breasts cradled in white lace and satin. I reach up a hand to cup her and find that I'm trembling. She notices and runs her hands through my hair likes she's trying to calm me down.

I've got to get a hold of myself. Better yet, I've got to get a hold of Donna. I make contact with her bra, then slip my fingers inside. She is soft and satiny and million other words that mean exquisite. I free one perfect and pink piece of flesh and move my mouth to cover it with lips and tongue.

Her fingers tighten in my hair again and, if I wasn't preoccupied with tasting her, I'd probably be in a lot of pain right now. She's humming above me and the sound is as delicious as her skin. I'm doing this to Donna. I'm making her hum and harden under my tongue.

I am _so_ da man.

Her fingers are becoming more and more insistent and I realize she's trying to pull me back.

"I wasn't done yet," I whine once my mouth is free.

"Didn't think you were," she grins. "Move back."

I'm not sure what she's asking and I know my confusion is stamped all over my face.

"Push your ass back a little," she directs. Donna said something about my ass. I am now officially twelve.

She rolls her eyes at what I'm sure is my adolescent look and I scoot back on the bed. She kneels on the edge and between my legs. Donna is a freaking genius. This a perfect position because I can roam my lips and hands over her torso at will. I busy myself for long and happy moments, working my fingers into the waistband of her pants, then, all-stealthy like, unbutton and unzip them.

"Josh", she whispers just as I begin to push them down her hips. Foiled again, I tip my head back and she rests her index fingers in my dimples and kisses the tip of my nose. "I love this face," she begins, "I missed this face. And these dimples are the sexiest thing ever."

"You are the sexiest thing ever," I correct her.

She laughs and kisses me again and things get out of control really quickly. We're ripping clothing off of each other and sending it flying to the far corners of the room.

Then I have her under me and I can feel her skin against mine and I want to say that I adore her, that I missed her so much I couldn't breathe right, that I never want her to leave me again – that I never want her out of my sight for longer than an hour. That even an hour is too long.

But, being me, I don't say any of those things. What I say is this: "We need condoms."

Donna looks dead in my eyes, "in my bag."

Okay. Well. That was a punch to the gut. My eyes get big – I can feel them stretching and I tell my mouth to stay closed.

"What? Why?"

Yep. My mouth never listens to me.

But Donna, thankfully, doesn't shove me off and tell me that I'm a jealous asshole who she'll _never_ sleep with now. No, she smiles at me and my heart turns over because, God, she's utterly lovely.

"How many cities have you and I been in together in the last five months?"

I'm not sure where she's going with this, or that I'm going to like it very much when she gets there. "I don't know. Lots?" Is she trying to tell me she's been having sex with gomers all along the campaign trail? Oh I really don't like this.

"Josh!" she says, squeezing her hands around my face and forcing me to look at her and I stare into her eyes and don't care how many gomers she's slept with in the last five months because she's with me and I'm going to be the only gomer she'll ever make love to again.

Have sex with again.

Make love to.

Damn. I have become a woman.

"It always pays to be prepared and, with you, it pays double," she's saying.

I blink slowly as I start to realize what she's trying to say: She's been waiting for me to become a man. Waiting for the last five months - and probably for eight years before that.

Wow.

I think Donna loves me.

I grin goofily at her, and she grins back. I lean down and kiss her before I move off her so she can get to her bag. She's back within seconds and dumps the box – unopened, mind you – on the bed stand.

"I appreciate your faith in me," I proclaim and I'm not sure if that's supposed to mean that it seems she thinks we'll need the whole box, or that she believed that I'd finally figure things out and come to her, or that she's _always_ believed in me.

I think it's everything.

She smiles at me – she's glowing again - and I pull her under me again, needing to feel her skin sliding over mine. We kiss, moving rapidly back to the place where we were before the condom issue came up.

She is warm, and sleek and soft and I need to be inside her. I move to my knees and she tears open the box and a packet in turn and rolls the sheath over me.

"Donna, how?" I want to hear her tell me, to let me know that she's pictured this like I have.

"In your fantasies of me, how?" she shoots back.

No fair. She reads minds. "What fantasies?" I ask, I need to maintain deniability here – I don't want her to know that I've imagined her naked a million times if she's never thought of me that way.

"Please," she says, rolling her eyes. How on earth can she be pissy right now? "You've imagined, I've imagined – now I want to know if we've sometimes imagined the same things."

Yes! She's imagined me naked and making her whimper, she's imagined her naked and making me whimper – there's been nakedness and whimpering in her imaginings. I can say this now: "What way haven't I imagined us, Donna?"

It's true. There have been some fantasies that are, quite frankly, not possible in the earth's gravity.

Her eyebrows disappear into her bangs and the smile on her face is pure lust. Oh dear Lord, I am going to ravish this woman.

She pulls me down and inside of her and I belong here. We fit together perfectly. I stare down into her eyes – let them surround me like her body is. I stay still, just enjoying the sensations.

"Move," she whispers.

No way. If I move, this'll be over and I want this moment to last forever. "Nope," I say, "I like this."

She wriggles beneath me, "you'll like moving, too. I promise, Josh."

I move deeper into her, hold myself still – let the heat of her body permeate me. I don't feel at all cold and prickly now. I'm lit up from inside. This is fun.

Then she tightens her inner muscles.

No fair.

She does it again, an evil smile playing around her lips.

"Donna…" I say warningly.

"If you won't move, then I will."

"That's not fair."

"Never promised I'd be fair, Josh." She powers up from her amazing thighs and bucks me up. Damn. She really is freakishly strong. "You really need to move now."

"I want this to last. What if I never get to do this again?" I whimper, trying to stay still with absolutely no cooperation from my body.

"Very little chance of that," she pants as I start to drive into her.

"But the impossible happens all the time."

She's keeping pace with me and I move my hand down between us. I want her to finish with me and I'm going to make sure it happens.

"Never does," she says, the words ending in a moan as I find what I was looking for.

"Today. Convention," I moan back. Only Donna and I could do this.

"This is us," she says, then she pulls my mouth down onto hers and she pulls me along with her. I can feel her pulse and surge, can feel her cries reverberate through my mouth.

Giddy, a little high and drunk, I pull back to look down at her. She is smiling up at me and I love that smile. I want that smile to be the first and last thing I see every single day of my life. I want to spend hours and days and years learning everything about her. I want to tell her that I need her and I would be her assistant if it meant that she would never leave me again.

She smoothes my very sweaty hair back from my very sweaty face. "That was almost good as I imagined it."

Oh no she didn't. She did not just interrupt my sappy emotional musings to say that the most amazing sexual experience of my life – of her life – didn't live up to her expectations.

"Donna," I growl, "does that mean I need to do this again?"

"Oh definitely," she grins, and I can tell she's playing with me. "We have lots to work on." Her hands are smoothing up and down my back and her legs are tightening around my waist.

How can I not love this woman?


End file.
